Perilous Ambition
by Arafell
Summary: There's a new kid on the block, and he's kind of. . . odd. OC Planeswalker.
1. Dead Useful

Author's Note: MTG/Buffy cross. Will be multicross later. Starts S3E12.

Ambition 1

The fist sent me flying into the alleyway. Luckily, I landed on a nice, squishy pile of garbage.

I'm sorry to say that by now, I was fairly used to being decked in the face and thrown out of various taverns.

Though the garbage was a new one.

It wasn't like I was being that rowdy; apparently, I just smelled too human. Can't even hang out with demons these days I guess. Then again, they might have detected the conjured money, or that I was younger than I acted. Now thoroughly pissed off, I stood and brushed sundry gross things off my coat, giving my aggressor a glare. The demon - a rather ugly thing with red eyes and pebbly gray skin - laughed and closed the door, leaving me alone in the alley.

I considered sending a pestilence of roaches his way for a moment, then shrugged.

"Too much effort," I muttered, slurring slightly and mildly regretting the loss of my bottle. Say what you want about the underworld, they know where the good booze is at. There wasn't much else I liked about this plane, that was for sure - they had some sort of age limit on drinking in normal bars. Still, I had a reason for being here.

Every Walker was linked to the land. We could feel it under our feet. Smell it on the breeze. Hear it, like the subtle hum of power lines in the distance. Mana was in our blood, our hearts, our _souls,_ and this place was thick with a miasma of dark power, with _Black_ mana.

 _My_ kind of mana.

The place had seemed pretty appealing when I sensed it – unique Sources usually did – but there was a distinct abundance of hungry monsters wandering around. I'd had to disintegrate at least three already – irritating and resource intensive, since they were immune to basic entropy - and spared the fourth only because he'd given me directions to Willie's.

Considering how that had ended, I should have vaporized that one too.

Not that I wanted them to vaporize, that was just a side effect of draining their life force, which was definitely not the bog standard reaction to that particular spell. I could only assume it was a species trait. It made recovering valuables practically impossible, but I imagined it made the bits and pieces easy to sweep up afterwards.

Without much else to do, I spun in a slow circle, then picked the direction with the most Black in it and started walking. Maybe I'd get some attuning done tonight.

* * *

This town had a lot of cemeteries.

This was a good thing, since I could theoretically parcel them up and gain multiple sources, but it also raised certain _questions_ that sobered me up quick.

For one, the people I met ran away when I tried to ask them for directions, indicating they knew the dangers of wandering the streets at night (though it might be they just disliked drunken strangers asking for the nearest cemetery.) Despite this, there were no mobs with torches and pitchforks like you'd normally expect in a place with this many monsters.

The last time I'd seen this many monsters in one place, I'd spent the night on top of a building warding off werewolves until I mustered the strength to Walk. People should be running, or rioting, or at least handing out worthless passive-aggressive safety pamphlets.

Instead, you had extra jumbo-sized cemeteries. Lots and lots of dead people who – for some moronic, inexplicable reason – didn't even realize they were being herded and slaughtered for food. People could be stupid, but not that stupid.

It made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Something was definitely off in – well, wherever this was.

At least the cemeteries were nicer than Yharnam's. Similar architecture, but better maintained.

I was here to tap the land for power, but doing so while drunk would be a mistake. It was probably a bad sign for my psyche, but leaning against tombstones was pretty comfortable and the grass was nice and soft.

I yawned, and leaned back against the cool marble.

Ahh. Dark, damp, and creepy.

Just like home.

Camping outside for a night wasn't as totally insane as it appeared, even with the vampires. Nothing was going to surprise me with my minions guarding my back, and spending time in an area made it easier to attune. Still, the temperature at 3 AM was in the low fifties.

Time like these made me sad that my minions weren't really the warm cuddly type. I mean, some fungus demons were warm from decomposition, but the thought of cuddling with one of those just grossed me out.

Besides, I could summon blankets for negligible mana expenditure. Warm, fuzzy blankets. I settled into them, getting comfortable at last. Various species of undead vermin were on patrol, and they wouldn't let a single demon -

"Are you sleeping on someone's _grave?_ "

Oh, _come on,_ I had _minions._ I cracked an eye open; short blonde girl, soul present. I suppose technically I _had_ ordered them to guard me from monsters, and she didn't look that threatening. If she'd been a vampire, she'd have been critter food.

Or I'd have had time to escape. One of the two.

"Maybe?"

"How is it _maybe?_ " Short, blonde, and irritable. Just what I was looking for to make the land-bond fugue more enjoyable.

"It's _maybe_ because the body probably wandered off the night they buried him." I eyed her. "Listen, if you don't mind, I'm kind of in the middle of something."

She scowled at me. "And you look _so_ trustworthy, taking a nap after midnight in a cemetery."

I raised one eyebrow. "Trustworthy? What are you, neighborhood watch?"

"I'm a vampire slayer," Blondie growled, raising an honest-to-god _stake._

Who uses _stakes_?

"Sort of low-tech aren't you?" I asked, frowning. "I mean, if I were hunting vampires I'd bring along a trick weapon, or maybe a big flamethrower."

Fire was _so_ useful. I'd always wanted to try Red magic, but unfortunately I lacked the visceral passion required. It was one of my fondest daydreams to turn an entropy-immune nuisance into an impromptu lightning rod.

"Where would I even _get_ a flamethrower? Not to mention-"

"Listen Blondie," I began, raising my voice and sitting up. "Not that the talk hasn't been fun-"

" _Blondie?!_ "

We started to talk over one another, and I suppose it must have been loud enough to wake the dead, because that's exactly what happened.

"Gack!" I yelped, rolling off the grave and into the wet grass. One of the grasping appendages grabbed my ankle, pulling itself up further and preventing me from rolling away. "Sorry, didn't know it was occupied!"

"This is why you don't _sleep_ in _cemeteries_!" Blondie punctuated the last word with a powerful stomp. The emaciated vampire, now more or less fully exposed, shrieked in pain and let go.

"What are the _odds_ of that?!" I asked plaintively, backpedaling. Instinctively, I began to call my minions – then I stopped. For some reason, I felt she'd react badly to a horde of rats and undead house cats leaping out of the shadows. "I mean, vampires resurrecting _right_ when you're on top of them?!"

"It's not a newborn," she said, casually swatting a grasping limb aside. "They hibernate in graves sometimes, it's why this one's so dried up looking. You know, they sell lotions for that now!"

It snarled at her.

Might be the time to leave. Besides, she said she was a vampire slayer, so she probably had it cov-

Blondie blinked, suddenly looking dizzy, then yelped as Vampire Mook #1 took advantage of the moment to kick her into a stone wall. When she didn't recover, the vampire took the opportunity to pounce.

There was a moment of desperate struggling, then the teeth started to come inexorably down.

I paused for a moment to consider, then marshaled my energies and gestured. Vampires were immune to entropy like most undead, but there were ways around everything. A thick, almost _alive_ rope whipped out from the darkness and coiled around the monsters torso. The vampire had a moment to screech in surprise, then it was dangling helplessly in the air as the spell took hold.

The enervating tendril plunged into its chest, greedily siphoning life force until it exploded into ash.

Despite nominally draining the necromantic energies from it, I felt winded. That was the fourth such spell I'd cast today, and it wasn't a cheap one. I slumped backwards, breathing heavily.

Blondie recovered her stake, eyeing me warily. "What are you?"

"Necromancer," I told her irritably. "Also, for a supposed vampire hunter I have to say you _really_ suck."

"Hey!" She objected, gesturing with the stake. It would have been more intimidating if she wasn't leaning against a wall for support. "I've killed _lots_ of vampires! I'm just . . . having an off night!"

I rolled my eyes. "Well, next time you're having an off night, maybe you should, I don't know, _stay home?_! If I hadn't been around, that thing would have had you for an entrée."

She looked at the spot where the vampire had dusted, then swallowed. "Yeah. Um – thanks, I guess. Wait," she narrowed her eyes at me, "did you say you were a necromancer?"

"Oh, lord, here come the pitchforks. I'll have you know necromancy's an honorable trade," I replied, standing up. My clothes were now damp and chilly, which was just _perfect_. "I deal with zombies and demons and – well, most recently vampires. It helps me regain energy if I'm in-" I gestured, "- places like this."

She continued the stare for a moment, then that odd, confused expression appeared again. She tried to hide it, but her legs were trembling. "I'm too tired to argue. If I catch you starting a zombie apocalypse, I'm staking you. Got it?"

"Sure, sure, threaten the guy that saved your life," I rolled my eyes, then considered her for a moment. "Joshua Daniels."

"What?"

"My name. What's yours?"

"Oh," she blinked. "Buffy."

I stared, not sure if she was joking or giving me an alias. She reddened, but raised her chin defiantly. Her eyes promised serious pain depending on my next remark.

My lips twitched. "It's a . . . perfectly cromulent name."

From the look on her face, she had no idea what cromulent meant, but she could obviously sense she was being mocked. With a huff, she turned and strode out of the graveyard.

"Don't get murdered! I don't want to clean up the mess!"

"And remember, go straight home!" I called after her, grinning ear to ear. "After all, a delicate flower like you – what if you ran into an undead kitten?!"

The indignant, rage-filled " _What_?" echoing through the tombstones made my night infinitely better. I was almost tempted to send an actual zombie cat after her, just to see the reaction.

I settled down, still smiling, and began fall back into meditation - with fresh, dry blankets of course.

After all, the grave was definitely empty now. Besides, there's no better way to attune your spirit to Black than fighting for your life against an undead monster in a spooky cemetery. Stealing his coffin afterwards was just a bonus.

* * *

After about three hours of cold, dampness, and cramps, I stood and stretched hugely. The mana connection was new and alive in my mind, positively – or negatively, in this case - _thrumming_ with power.

Local sources were much more effective for quick evocation. They tended to replenish and provide mana faster than foreign lands did, meaning that binding a land or two was generally one of the first things a Planeswalker did when they found a new playground.

Still, it was surprising how freely this place gave up power to any random supplicant. I'd expected to have to come back and finish it up tomorrow night.

"First things first," I leaned heavily on the tombstone, sleeping legs not wanting to support me. "Have to find a good lair. Every necromancer has to have a good lair, preferably with a dungeon."

Divination was a Blue thing; Blue could mystically conjure knowledge like no one's business, leading the wizard wherever he wanted to go. Black could do something similar . . . at a price. In this case, that price was the shedding of blood – my blood. Blood divination was generally pretty effective, though to be perfectly accurate I'd need a quill and paper.

Though if I had a goat handy I could perform some good ol' fashioned haruspex. Sadly, I'd never taken the time to create a goat summon.

My spell went off perfectly. The spilled blood coalesced nearly instantly, pointing all the way to - to the building nearest to me.

"Huh," I blinked, absentmindedly using vitae to heal my arm. "Who leaves a perfectly good mansion unoccupied?"


	2. Auspicious Meetings

Ambition 2

"Alright," I said, raising my hands. "Not as empty as I thought."

Something I only just now remembered - I hate divination. It always lead me astray, even when I didn't shortchange the spell. Next time, I'd bring actual paper instead of trying to write my desire on air.

"What do you want?" The vampire growled, projectile weapon aimed and steady. At least, I assumed it was some sort of projectile weapon – the holes on the end were a bit of a giveaway.

"Just looking for a place to crash," I told him, backing up a few inches. Something was off with this scenario; I squinted at him.

Why did a vampire need a shotgun? For that matter, why wasn't he lunging? I'd been ready for a trademark lunge, in which case I would seriously ruin his day – probably with indigestion – but my blood remained undrunk.

"Go somewhere else."

"Right, right," I said, edging for the door. "Nice coat, by the way. Love the leather."

 _"Get out._ "

I fled.

I swear, one of these days I was just going to summon a horde of roaches on someone.

An inn wasn't my top choice, but I needed somewhere to rest and grab a hot bath. Binding Black worked best at night, so I had quite a bit of time on my hands.

With that in mind, I searched for the place with the best food.

* * *

As it turned out, the food didn't matter much. After consulting a nervous worker at a fuel depot, I learned there were two inns in town – a really, really nice inn that would draw way too much attention to my conjured money, and a seedy dump of a place that I suspected was a front for vampire enablers.

Times like these, I wished I was a Blue mage. I really, really wanted mind control, but the best I could manage was about as subtle as a brick through the cranium.

Thus, rather than wave my hand and convince the suspicious clerk to rent me a room permanently, I conjured cash and was forced to wheedle my way out of an ID check.

This place and its weird laws. Willie hadn't minded, but everywhere else kept asking for ID. I can't _wait_ till I'm older.

My bed was lumpy, and I distrusted the sheets enough that I stripped them off and conjured new blankets. It was sad, but I didn't have much to unpack. I couldn't take bulky things with me through the Blind Eternities – even my clothes tended to wear out quickly, and backpacks decayed into uselessness after only one trip.

It was easier to just prick my finger, sacrifice a little blood, and make some immaterial wealth to buy the necessities. On the last world, I'd buried the more valuable things in a coffin to await my return, since even the hardiest grave robbers avoided coffins marked with plague symbols.

There were just a few things I _needed._

* * *

"You don't have any?" I asked, dismayed.

The clerk wilted slightly. "N-no, I'm afraid I've never heard of a music cube before. I-I guess it just hasn't hit the shelves yet. I mean, I'm kind of new here, but I c-can definitely help you find something similar?"

I sighed. A good music cube could hold a thousand songs, but I'd searched high and low to no avail. The last world had little in the way of music at all, so I hadn't bothered, but the cultured atmosphere here had given me hope.

I was doubtful they had anything similar.

"That's alright," I told her with a faux smile. "Thank you for your help."

Spare set of clothes, check. Snack material, check. Chalk, candles, and various tools, check.

The lack of music for my room was disappointing. What did people even _do_ around here but drink and get eaten by monsters?

Apparently they swan around in gleaming vehicles during daylight and pretend they aren't on the menu. I made a face; whatever those things ran on, by the noise and smell it definitely wasn't mana. Give me a good ornithopter or skeletal horse any day.

If only I was an artificer of any real renown. Em would have had a field day with this place; she'd always loved to take things apart.

Feeling suddenly miserable, I returned to my room and unloaded my purchases with great relief. There weren't any resizable trunks here. Instead, they used these odd bags made of some stretchy, pliable substance that cut into my palms.

Barbarians, all of them.

The box on my dresser was pretty cool at least. From what I could tell through careful observation at the Sears store, they were a broadcast-receiving variant of image crystals that could be controlled via remote.

My remote was different, but the symbols were more or less the same as the one at the store, and the language was translated by my Spark. To a Walker as strong as me, this was nothing!

I spent the rest of the day munching salted bread twists and fiddling with the buttons. It was a useful research tool – even a short skimming section provided the name for the 'shot-gun' that vampire had pointed at me earlier. Apparently, it was oft used to deter miscreants from stealing cattle.

The bed became more comfortable as time went on. The quiet talking and the hum of the heating device lulled me to sleep.

I woke up with the morning sunlight filtering in, and was immediately furious.

A whole night lost. The television was still on, figures mindlessly blabbering away. It wasn't a total waste, even if it made me want to throw things. I had been exhausted and mildly hungover; now that I was fresh, I'd be able to think more clearly.

I had a goal. I wasn't on vacation, and I needed to remember that. Mana sources were step one; local magic was step two. I needed to do research, starting with local occult hotspots and history.

This place was advanced enough that it would have major centers of learning; I would start there.

* * *

Apparently, one had to pay, register, then pay again to use the University library, which left me with the public library in the 'high' school. Unfortunately, that library was currently dark and unoccupied. Presumably, the librarian had just left.

Without a keeper, I didn't want to outright _take_ the books for fear of offending some sort of established system, so I scanned through several of the more recent local distributions instead.

It was a depressing read, if you knew what to look for. Front page was mostly useless political drivel, but the column reporting local deaths was ridiculously long. I spent some time reading and cross referencing unfamiliar terms with a handy dictionary.

Dull, but necessary.

Of course, not _all_ of it was boring. There were also books on demonology that had been left on the table, something I was intensely in. There were traces of powerful magic on some of them, and even more powerful signatures waited in the caged section of the library. I didn't touch those; mystical books kept deliberately in isolation were often dangerous. I piled up whatever interested me, then started to read.

Halfway through the first book, I felt the power under the floor begin to ooze into me, and suddenly I had better reasons to stick around.

* * *

It was dark by the time I finished the connection and left the library. No one showed up; on further reflection, it may have been closed, though why they didn't lock it up was beyond me. Maybe he had better things to do? After all, the important stuff was already in a metal cage.

Whatever. The real treasure had been beneath the floor. The new thread of mana was positively _bursting_ with power, easily twice as much as the cemetery, and it was definitely the power source that drew me to Sunnydale in the first place. It was so eager to be used, I didn't even need to meditate that long.

Mine! Mine, definitely mine! I didn't even mind losing a full night, I had gained an infinitely better source than a run of the mill cemetery, be it _ever_ so deathful.

"You know," I said out loud, "this place is beginning to grow on me!"

Someone screamed. I paused, turning towards the noise.

"Help! Somebody, please! _Help me_!"

Eh? That sounded like Buffy the wannabe vampire hunter. I debated the merits of leaving her to her own stupidity, but I knew I'd feel bad if she wound up dead - or undead. That sort of thing had a way of biting you later, often literally.

I sighed and disregarded my natural instincts, heading in the direction of panicked screams.

She wasn't far. Buffy was trying to slip through a fence, but one of them had her by the ankle.

I put my fingers in my mouth and blew. The whistle was short and ear-piercing; both of them looked up.

"Heya!" I waved. A bolt of black gunk exploded out of my hand, covered the vampire's face. He sprung backwards immediately, shocked, and started trying to pry it off. I wished him good luck; that stuff lasted for _hours_. When he didn't turn to dust, I turned to my rescued damsel. "Hey, do vampires need to breathe? 'Cause he's still all . . . _thrashy_."

Normally a smother spell was pretty effective against weaklings like -

She responded with a tackle hug, nearly knocking me off my feet. "Thank you-thank you-thank you!"

My rats went after the vamp, who was on the ground and nominally helpless. Meanwhile, I frowned at Buffy, who suddenly realized she'd hugged the creepy necromancer guy. "I thought you were supposed to _hunt_ these sorts of things, and _one bloodsucker_ gets the better of you? Where's your holy water, your stake?"

She shuddered, but her eyes recovered a shade of the defiance from earlier. "Normally I'm _stronger_ than this! I've killed _hundreds_ of the things practically barehanded, so believe me, this is weirder for me than it is for you. And there were two!"

We parted, looking around carefully, but no second vampire appeared – maybe he had better things to do.

Still, my curiosity was piqued. "Are we talking metaphysical empowerment stronger, demonic heritage stronger, or enchanted accessories stronger?"

"Um-" Buffy blinked, looking clueless. It was better than terrified, I suppose. "I . . . don't really know."

I sighed. "What makes you stronger?"

"Oh! I'm the Vampire Slayer."

My keen detective sense was telling me that this wasn't a bog standard hunter scenario, and as a Black Walker I knew all about bog standard. "That supposed to mean something?"

It was her turn to frown. "You know, one girl in all the world? Super strength, super instincts? Nothing?"

I shook my head. "Not from around here, so I'm still a little fuzzy on the local lore."

One of the machines from earlier screeched around the corner, then pulled up next to us. Inside, a middle aged man retracted the glass, an expression of worry on his face. "Buffy!"

"Giles!"

From the strength of the Black in that man's aura, it was my lucky day. ". . . Would you happen to be a mage?"

* * *

Back in the library again; I suppose it made sense for the owner of the occult books to actually use them.

"So," I began, summarizing. "One girl in all the world, to cover the _entire_ world from demons and vampires."

"There are other safeguards, but essentially, yes." Giles dabbed disinfectant on Buffy's face, making her flinch.

I stared at him. "Isn't that kind of, I don't know, a _lot_ of ground to cover?"

He shook his head. "The Slayer is the Council's trump card. Well trained commando teams can often deal with lone threats on their own – the Slayer is generally called upon to stop various apocalyptic events."

"Except this Slayer has no powers!" Buffy exclaimed, looking frustrated. "I nearly broke my arm on that vampire's face!"

I raised a hand. "Can I do some metaphysical sensing here? Maybe I'll figure out what's gone wrong."

Or figure out how to duplicate the enchantment. This sounded like a Black enchantment to me.

Giles frowned, but Buffy brightened. Obviously, she trusted me more than he did - probably since I saved her life. Either that, or she was just desperate for a quick fix. Couldn't blame her - if I lived in this town, I'd want super strength too. "This is magic stuff, right? You think you can fix this?"

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions," the librarian cautioned, looking uneasy. And guilty. Well, I'd feel guilty too if I dumped multiple 'save the world' situations on a fifteen year old girl.

"What?" Buffy didn't seem to like being the damsel in distress. "You said yesterday its unlikely necromancy is related, and he's obviously got experience. What does this meta-fizzy stuff involve?"

Losing patience, I poked her in the forehead, making her go cross-eyed. "This."

I extended my senses, shutting out the world.

Exhale air. Inhale mana.

. . .

Black.

Not an enchantment as I'd thought.

. . .

Something alive? Parasitic?

Yikes - alive and unfriendly. Hints of green; couldn't summon _that_. It was hard to avoid, considering how tangled it was with her basic structure.

. . .

"Something going to happen? My forehead itches."

"Shush, Buffy, don't interrupt him. If he's casting a spell, it could be disastrous."

. . .

As far as I could tell, there was nothing wrong with the basic structure of the possession, nor were there any spells interfering with it. However, if all that was missing was strength – well, there was an easy solution.

I'd always wanted to try this on a normal person. My summons could never tell me how it felt.

"I can fix this," I told her, grinning. "Hold still."

"What exactly are you going to-"

Before she could finish her sentence, I started to cast. A glimmering black band appeared around her forehead and began to weave around itself, growing more and more complex with every passing second.

Strength was one of the cheaper, simpler enchantments I knew. It was temporary, it was powerful, and it was a _great_ parlor trick to intimidate uneducated peasants.

"Done," I told her cheerfully. She staggered backwards, blinking rapidly. "That'll only last a couple of days, just so you know, but it'll put the buff back in Buffy."

Buffy felt at the ersatz tattoo, frowning. Giles swooped down, examining it from every angle. "It feels kind of . . . warm. You said this'll stop working?"

"When it runs out of power," I told her. "Or after three sunrises."

"What spell is this? It looks . . . Celtic?"

"Don't know," I told the librarian, straightening. "I just call it Strength. Makes you three times stronger and twice as tough – at least, if you're a normal person."

Giles stopped. "Please tell me it's _tested_."

"Of course!" That was mildly offensive, even if it was halfway true. "Simplest enchantment you can make. The circle in the center creates a reservoir, the markings channel it through. Battery runs out, markings disappear, enchantment goes away. No muss, no-"

" _Markings_?" Buffy ran for a mirror, prodding the black line frantically. "I got a tattoo! My mom's going to _kill_ me!"

"It'll go away!" I pointed out, a trifle desperately as she turned on me with murder in her eyes. "Just give it a couple days, or punch a lot of vampires!"

"How many times do I have to punch _necromancers?_ "

"Whoa, whoa!" I raised my hands as she advanced. "Squishy human here!"

"Wait." Giles stepped forward. "I want you to walk me through, _exactly_ how that works. Buffy, go home; try not to do any. . . _slaying_ things until I figure this out."

Buffy gave me one last, irritated look, then stomped out.

"It's very simple really," I told him weakly. "Quite basic."

He arched an eyebrow, unimpressed.

* * *

I returned to my hotel room near dawn, utterly exhausted. The man was surprisingly good at interrogations, despite his cultured appearance. After being grilled for an hour on the spell workings – which, considering how many times I repeated myself, he didn't fully understand – he'd switched topics to my intentions in Sunnydale.

Guess he really cared about his charge. I neglected to mention that I could end the spell any time I wanted, or that I could sense my enchantment wherever it went.

Guy's got to have _some_ secrets after all. Besides, she'd get her idiot self killed without it, and mystical markings like that were all the rage back where I came from. Really, she should be grateful.

Luckily, Giles was called away by a colleague before he had me repeating myself for the third time. While initially reluctant to leave me alone, we struck a deal – I would tell him where I could be found, if in return he'd let me study his books more extensively.

Still didn't understand his point of view. The hag I learned magic from had been pretty brusque about it – pump mana into this, prick your finger here, focus your mind and watch the pretty lights afterwards. Or, you know, lack of light. I'd never had any _real_ consequences from my spells, besides a few runaway zombie squirrels.

When I got home I renewed my entropic pest-removal enchantment on the bed, then collapsed. Long years of practice let me disregard the sun shining in. As I drifted off, I couldn't help but ponder the progress I'd made.

 _I'm starting to hate this town again._

At least I could get some sleep during the day this time.

* * *

"And where, exactly, did you learn magic?"

Shouldn't have given him my address. Shouldn't have opened the door. Shouldn't have let him in. Idiot, idiot me. I bashed my head into the wall.

"From a hag," I told him wearily. "Listen, I'm still kind of tired-"

"It's five in the afternoon," Giles said, frowning disapprovingly. "You'll be fine. Now, you say a hag taught you magic – do you mean a wiccan hermit or the child eating demon?"

"Neither, and I was up all night." I growled, slumping over to the one-burner stove and taking the kettle off. "Tea?"

"Not if it's in bags," he said, making a face. "What was she, precisely?"

"Gwyllion." I took a sip from my mug and sighed. Merciful caffeine; I wish I could make food like a Green mage could. "They're a variant of swamp hag. Territorial, but more or less civilized. I wasn't fully compatible with her type of magic, but she taught me what she could."

"In exchange for . . .?"

"Company, mostly. Food, otherwise – I brought a lot of carrion. I was an odd sort of kid, always finding animal bodies in the woods. Turns out, I had a sort of affinity for dead things."

And boy, didn't _that_ make me popular with the other kids. 'Hey look, it's Joshua, the gravedigger's kid that's always dragging dead animals around!'

Now that I thought about it, I suppose I had the last laugh when the bombing runs started and I was out foraging for hag food in the swamp.

"I see," Giles said, buying time by wiping his glasses. "I must warn you, necromancy is a dangerous, unpredictable branch of magic. The power of life and death is not to be trifled with. If in the future you absolutely _must_ do magic on or near one of my charges, please ask me first. I dislike the idea of this - this _negative energy_ manipulation."

"It's really not as bad as it sounds," I assured him. Black mana is the easiest mana to turn to evil, but it is not evil in and of itself. I mean, its nature was inherently selfish which was pretty easy to condemn, but anyone who called being selfish a unanimously bad thing was at best a massive hypocrite.

"Be that as it may," he fixed me with a stern look, "magic is not _always_ the answer."

". . . I don't follow." It worked pretty well for my Plane, after all. "I use magic for basically everything."

He shook his head adamantly. "That's exactly why! You're treating magic like a crutch when it's really a live adder. The path you're on is _foolish_ and it'll lead you somewhere you don't want to go!"

Like he knew _anything_ about me. I whirled, a snarl on my face. "I'm not-"

The look in his eyes stopped me. It wasn't anger, like I suspected – it was desperation. He was pleading with me. I sighed, and moderated what I was going to say.

"Listen," I told him, struggling to keep my tone level. "I'm not a normal warlock."

"I've heard that before."

"In my case it's different."

"I've heard that too."

Frustrated, I ran one hand down my face. If I was a Blue mage, this would be way easier. "My magic isn't like yours, but you'll have to take my word for it. Just – give me a chance, alright? All I am is magic; without magic, I'd be just another homeless guy, wandering the streets. And - if you do decide to run me out of town, tell my civilly, and leave the torches and pitchforks at home?"

I'd rather not have someone burn me at the stake again. I might not be able to Walk out next time.

Giles stared at me for a long moment, then sighed. "I'll give you a chance - _one_ chance, Mr. Daniels. I expect to see you at the library around-" he paused, an odd expression crossing his face. "How old are you?"

I blinked. "Oh. Um-" - fourteen when I left, two years of apprenticeship, one year of aimless wandering – "-seventeen, roughly. Closer to eighteen."

He narrowed his eyes at me.

". . . What?"


	3. Whiplash Inducement

Ambition 3

"This is a stupid idea."

"It's the law. Faith can get away with it because she dropped out, but I'm not letting you cloister yourself with the undead all day."

I scowled at him. We were standing outside Snyder's office, waiting for the big man himself. Giles had a thick folder of papers in hand.

"Seriously, going to a scholarly institute isn't my idea of fun." At least, not this kind of scholarly institute.

"It's not supposed to be fun" Giles said loftily. "It's supposed to be _educational_."

"What if I killed and reanimated my classmates?" I wheedled. "Would you really put them at risk like that?"

He gave me a stern look. "That's not funny, and no, you won't do that."

I wilted. "No, I won't, but still is still a waste of time."

Besides, I still couldn't do human resurrection with any real reliability.

"You need to learn the basics of society before you can understand our magic. Besides, you're young enough to receive an education, and thus I am obligated to put you into schooling."

"I'm considered an adult now where I come from! Technically, I was an adult before I even left!"

"Too bad," he said, looking smug. "You're in America now, and you'll abide by their - _our_ rules. Besides, I was able to procure suitable identification – with your actual name on it, even! - and we wouldn't want _that_ to go to waste."

Urge . . . to Planeswalk . . . rising . . .

No; I shook my head vigorously. I couldn't leave yet, not when I'd finally discovered a cache of mystical knowledge, and I'd pay a price _much_ higher than this to gain access to new magic.

Besides, I'd already had to do some quick thinking to explain the lack of evidence I existed, and I didn't want to waste the effort. Giles had been suspicious at first, but after I danced around the subject enough he seemed to get the impression I was some sort of runaway; to my complete surprise, he'd showed up with papers 'proving' my existence - and citizenship - the next day.

I still wasn't sure why he was going through all this effort. Presumably, he benefited somehow by sponsoring my admittance, rather than just letting me read the tomes for a fee. The obvious reason to teach an apprentice was to gain a loyal adherent – maybe he needed some metaphysical muscle? If so, I couldn't help but feel he was either underestimating me or overestimating himself.

I gave him a sidelong look. Was he really that awesome a sorcerer?

"If you're wondering whether you're faster than I am, the answer is 'yes.' However, the books won't follow you out."

"Pfft, run away? Nah, I was just – thinking about - about how much fun I'm going to have!" I finished lamely. He gave me a skeptical look, but didn't comment.

"Giles," a gravelly voice growled, opening the door. "It's time for your appointment. I understand you have _another_ student to shove down my throat?"

"Mr. Daniel's record is exemplary," Giles said, straightening. "I should hope he will be accepted with open arms."

"Exemplary?" The man who could only be Principle Snyder snorted. "It's barely _present._ He's homeschooled, _apparently,_ and there are practically no records of his existence. There's a birth certificate and a learner's permit for the state of Alaska, and that's all."

"He'll take the placement tests, of course," Giles said, frowning.

"He will," Snyder agreed, beady eyes malevolent, "and he'd better ace them _all_ or I'll stick him in a younger year."

"I'm sure they can't be that hard," I muttered irritably. Magda had literally _beat_ the basic principles of thaumaturgy into my head, being a devout believer in 'the firm stick teaches best.' Compared to that, Sunnydale High should be a walk in the park.

Though, now that I thought about it, a walk in the park for Sunnydale was a lot harder than most places.

"Hmph," Snyder took the papers, then sat down at his desk. "Your placement exams will be on Wednesday. I trust you know where the books are; now get out of my sight."

It might have been the thinly veiled condescension, the way he glared at Giles, or maybe it was just his pasty vampiric complexion, but something about this guy rubbed me the wrong way.

"Nice to meet you as well," I told him unflinchingly, grabbing the schedule. He sneered and made a dismissive motion. My guide beckoned, and we headed towards the library in companionable silence.

I swear, I get no respect. One of these days, I was going to –

. . . You know, that wasn't a bad idea. Making sure Giles wasn't watching, I waggled my fingers in the direction of the office and spawned a minor pestilence.

Vindictive things, swamp hags. Magda wasn't the best with necromancy, but she could conjure up a painful hex like no one's business, and she'd taught me _all_ the best curses a swamp could expel.

"You're going to have to study," Giles said, frowning. I jumped, resisting the urge to hide my hands. "I have the textbooks, but the tests are in three days, and there will be makeup assignments for the parts you missed."

"How exactly did you get him to approve this?" I asked. "I could tell you hated one another."

"Let's just say I negotiated aggressively, and leave it at that." He paused. "And, well, this time there was no criminal record, so it was easier."

My brow furrowed. "Criminal record?"

Giles grimaced. "Buffy."

I put two and two together. "She slay someone in public?"

"Not someone, some _thing_. She burned down a gym full of vampires; unfortunately, it was witnessed."

"Ouch."

"Quite."

Behind us, there was a short, panicked scream, followed by cursing and loud thumping.

"Spiders! _Spiders!_ "

"What in the world?" Giles frowned back at Snyder's office door.

"Probably nothing," I told him mildly. He gave me a suspicious look. "What?"

* * *

I wouldn't call this _hard_ , per say.

Boring, definitely. Hard? Not really. The history came easy; I may not be Blue, but even I could pull off rote memorization without too much trouble. The math was slightly more difficult, what with the letters mixed in with the numbers, but dogged persistence pulled me through once more.

Or at least, I _think_ my methods were working; the real proof of that would be the placement exams, which were in two days.

As a fringe benefit I was doing my studying in the library, which meant my connection to the mana source under the floor was deepening.

I _still_ didn't know what that was. Giles hadn't mentioned it or Bonded it, but doubtless he knew about it.

The doors of the library slammed open; I jumped.

"Giles! I need a stupid book for a stupid project which is now _late_ because you weren't _here_ when I–" the girl stopped short, frowning at me. "Who are you supposed to be, Johnny Cash?"

"Johnny who?" I think that was an insult. Probably. Judging by tone.

"Wow. That's actually kind of sad." She glanced around, then gave me a wary look. "You aren't some horrific monster in human form waiting for me to turn my back so you can eat me alive, are you?"

"I – I don't know how to respond to that," I told her slowly. "No?"

"Right, 'cause I've never actually seen a normal student in here, you've got a _really_ creepy fashion statement going, and you're neck deep in weird looking demon books." She gestured at the pile around me.

Fashion statement?

I looked down at myself.

What was wrong with black? It hid stains, it was hard to see at night, and the thread count was reasonably high. Good, well-cut clothes were a marvel, and I was actually proud at my perfect duplication of the original.

Whatever. "These books were here when I sat down. Giles said to get the normal stuff done first, so I'm studying."

"He did?" She frowned down at the book in front of me. "What are you even looking at?"

"Automotives," I said, shutting the book with a snap. They'd been fascinating me the entire time I was here, and I'd already finished my history text. "What was your name again?"

"Cordelia," she crossed her arms, then started walking towards the office. "And any _real_ man would have given his name first. Giles!"

Giles stepped out of his office, looking as if he'd slept at his desk. "Yes, Ms. Chase, no need to yell, this is a - good lord – Joshua, have you been here all night?"

Cursory examination told me that it was once more light outside. ". . . Maybe?"

"I told you that you could go home when Buffy did," he said, frowning. "That was six hours ago."

"I don't sleep much." Twelve hours every two days, to be exact. I still wasn't sure if that was a personal quirk or a Black thing.

He peered down at the book in my hands. " _Introduction to the Modern Engine?_ "

"Pet project," I told him cheerfully. "We didn't have anything like them where I was from, and I finished the other stuff already."

Cordelia snorted. "Ah, that explains the outfit, you're _Amish_! Now, could we get to _my_ problems please?"

Giles sighed. "What can I help you with today, Ms. Chase?"

Cordelia thrust a piece of paper into his hands. Her foot began to tap. "I've been waiting for this book _all weekend_ because you weren't _open_ the last two days."

"That would be fairly typical on the weekend," Giles said, perusing the shelves briefly before pulling a book free. "Though I must say I'm surprised to see you here so early."

Cordelia took the book from him, looking uncomfortable. "Yes, well, it was already late, so I needed to get it done before she lowered my grade any further."

Giles peered at her over his glasses. "So you _aren't_ avoiding Xander."

"None of your business," she snapped, turning in place and hurrying out the door.

We both watched her go in companionable silence.

"Is she always like that?"

"Unfortunately."

"Huh." I contemplated my book for a moment before turning back to Giles. "Does she show up often?"

". . .Unfortunately."

"Damn."

Maybe it was time for bed; I still had all of Tuesday/today to read up on the math stuff.

* * *

" _Evicted_?"

The manager, whose name I never learned, scowled at me. "Yeah, don't think I didn't notice that money you gave me went up in smoke. I don't know how you did it, maybe chemicals, maybe some sort of Houdini crap, but you're _out_ of here."

I weighed my options, then sighed. "If you lost the money, that's your problem, but I'll go. It'll just take me a couple minutes to gather up-"

His hand crept under the counter. "No way. Give me your key and go; I'll sell the crap you left, try to get the money you owe me out of it."

Alright, there's a line between 'that's fair' and 'that's a scumbag move,' and he'd just crossed it. I mean, theoretically I could have done nothing wrong!

"So you're basically robbing me," I said, voice flat. "You do this with all your customers?"

His lip curled up into a sneer as he pulled out some sort of gun-style weapon, small enough to hold in one hand. A pistol, I think. "You have until the count of-"

Unfortunately for him, he made the mistake of meeting my eyes, and I ripped into his mind without a second thought. He fell, limbs jerking sporadically; it wasn't a gentle probe by any stretch. I reached for his memories of me, then tore them out without subtlety or grace.

A blue mage could have done it easier, made him come up with new memories so real he didn't even know they were gone, but I didn't care and neither did Black. Like most spells I knew, this was a brute-force sympathetic connection between me, the victim, and a torrent of loosely directed mana.

When I was finished, I stepped over the drooling body – pausing to grab the gun - and walked calmly towards my apartment. I didn't have that much stuff, just a few knick-knacks and food, but it would be difficult to carry it all. With that in mind, I drug Weasel the Comatose Landlord out into the hallway, then began sorting my things.

Lucky for me, I had a backpack and several grocery bags that I hadn't thrown away yet. It wasn't like I'd never been homeless before; if necessary, I would just find a likely tomb and hole up for the night, no problem.

I opened the door, arms full of stuff and backpack secured, then stopped. There was a girl at the service desk, bending over the body.

"Damn, you really did a number on him," the short brunette said, standing up. "Going somewhere?"

"Going elsewhere," I corrected, stepping out and closing the door with one foot. "Apparently, I'm evicted. What's with Weasel?"

At this point, I honestly didn't care that I couldn't remember his name.

She snorted. "Yeah, that's not gonna work, I heard you arguing; thin walls."

"Eh, worth a shot." I shrugged. "He'll recover, give him a good slap or two."

"That'll help?" She asked dubiously, poking him with her toe.

"No," I admitted, "but it'll make me feel better about getting kicked out. I'm Joshua, and I'd shake your hand, but I'm sort of overloaded."

"Faith," she said, narrowing her eyes at me, "and I'm not dumb enough to fall for that. What are you?"

Wow; that was some serious presence she had there. I started to cast, quickly and carefully.

"Necromancer by trade, runaway by circumstance," I said, considering her for a moment. There was something about her, perhaps the confident stance or the nonchalant threat in her voice that was slightly familiar. I could've sworn I'd heard her name before. "Say, would you happen to know a Buffy, or a Rupert Giles?"

"Name dropping the good guys isn't going to get you out of this," Faith said, cracking her knuckles. "See, I think I gotta be _professionally_ _opposed_ to necromancers picking on - somewhat innocent - sleazebags. You got two choices – one, you let me take you in peaceably, or two, I start breaking things."

Something in me was whispering, very quietly, that now would be a good time to get gone. She wasn't a vampire or demon, but there was something primal and violent in the way she was holding herself that said she'd enjoy pummeling me into paste.

"Right, well-" I threw my groceries at her, followed by the hasty conjuring of an undead squirrel. She swiped the groceries out of the air with a quick, graceful motion and a predatory smile – then shrieked as the squirrel landed on her face and bit down. Faith tried to smack it, but it evaded, executing what I liked to call a flawless clothes-burrow.

Meanwhile, I was _out_ of there the moment my impromptu projectile struck, Faith's angry swearing echoing down the halls behind me. Once out of the building, I turned down the nearest alleyway and then into a shop. The bathroom was unoccupied; I locked myself in, then waited.

If I was pursued, she didn't find me. I breathed a sigh of relief, slumping against the wall.

It was amazing, really, all the experience I had in running away.

Losing the majority of my food would hurt in the short run, but at least I still had the books I necessary for the tests tomorrow. For now, I needed a good spot to lay low. A tomb wouldn't work this time – after all, the first place anyone looks for a necromancer is in a graveyard.

What was it that Giles said to do if I needed to talk to him?

I unzipped the pack – interesting device, zippers – and pulled out the bookmark he'd given me with the string of numbers on it. It took me a couple minutes to figure out the payphone, but through stealthy observation I managed to get it to ring.

"What is it?" The bleary voice came out of the phone, which was a bit of a shock.

"Mr. Giles?" I asked nervously. "I may have a _slight_ problem."

* * *

"You did _what_ to Faith?!"

"She forced my hand!"


End file.
